


Never Let Me Go

by Corseted (anroisin)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Rape Aftermath, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:04:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anroisin/pseuds/Corseted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited. [ABANDONED/INCOMPLETE]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys.
> 
> "Abandoned" means abandoned, left behind, dropped, no longer being worked on. It is only published for archival purposes. 
> 
> There is no point in asking me to update it, because I'm not going to, because I've abandoned it. The summary of the fic itself says "abandoned/incomplete". It doesn't say "abandoned/incomplete, unless you ask me really nicely." 
> 
> This fic is not being updated. Asking me to update it will not change that.

It was raining.

The city was a smoky grey, damp and filthy. The yellow pools of light from the streetlamps looked like piss. He opened the window, millimeter by painstaking millimeter—partly to avoid waking anyone else in the apartment, mostly because his broken body screamed in protest with every breath he took.

His skull ached and his vision was spotty, but that had something to do with the lack of oxygen and he couldn’t be too careful. Couldn’t afford a fuck-up. The breathing in the room was shallow, unconscious.

One last push, and the sliver was wide enough for him to squirm out of. Legs first. He put his feet down as lightly as he could manage, and there was no noise as rubber soles touched the metal of the fire escape.

He breathed in, exhaled, flattened his ribs as much as he could, and slipped out the window with his hands against the sill. His body felt like it was on fire.

He didn’t make a sound.

Crouching with his head below the sill, he allowed himself a moment to grimace at the agony coursing through him. His throat was raw, his hip pulsing white-hot; these new injuries in combination with the old, dull ache in his ribs and ankle were almost unbearable.

But only almost.

He didn’t have time to indulge in pain any longer.

Silently, he slipped down the fire escape into the alley. His boot splashed in a puddle and he froze, terror clawing at his throat. Any second, the sound would awaken at least one of them and he’d barely have time to breathe before the unconscious body in the master bedroom was discovered and chase was given.

Nothing. No movement, no voices. They were all still asleep, or at least hadn’t looked out the window yet, but he couldn’t afford to linger. It was only a matter of time.

He took a deep breath, and forced himself to run.

His sense of direction and impeccable memory kicked in, and his feet carried him halfway across the city and up a familiar, imposing driveway before his brain registered where he was. The lawn was immaculately groomed, as it had always been, and the BMW was parked in its usual spot. Nothing out of place, nothing to betray that this was the home of a missing child.

His chest spasmed and his eyes watered, from the physical agony and the sudden vision of his mother’s pale, weak face.

The lights were off. It was nearly three in the morning and his father would have work the next day. As always. He sank to the front step and curled up, resting his head on his forearm. He couldn’t stay--the throbbing of his rib and ankle reminded him why--but there was a growing part of him that wanted desperately to crawl inside, bury his face in his own pillow, and breathe in the familiar smell of his mother’s preferred laundry detergent.

He stayed there, damp from the rain and his own tears, until the noise of someone moving around inside startled him up. He couldn’t be seen here. He got up, muddy and hurting, and started to walk again.

There wasn’t anywhere left for him to go. No family. No friends. A homeless shelter, maybe, or the police--

He stopped short as a memory popped into his head--an affectionate smile, a stirring in his own gut, sitting quietly in the music room of his private high school long after he was supposed to be home.

He’d memorized the address and directions, just in case, back when he was still a freshman.

“Please be too lazy to deal with selling a house,” he whispered to nobody in particular, and broke into a run again.

\--

Well. This was unexpected.

Kakashi stared down into fiery black eyes, taking note of the brilliantly green bruising around one socket and along a haughty cheekbone. Along his arm and up to the hand resting casually on Kakashi’s doorframe—Sasuke’s knuckles were split. He was favoring one leg, and his breathing was shallow. _Cracked rib?_

“I’m not going to ask you where you’ve been,” Kakashi said, his voice shockingly even in contrast to the thousand and one thoughts whirling through his head--what had he been doing, who had hurt him; for fuck’s sake, why hadn’t he called, Kakashi would have come to get him in a heartbeat--

“Good; saves me the trouble of refusing to tell you. Now let me in.” Sasuke’s voice was a raw, hoarse rasp.

It was three in the goddamned morning, and if it were anyone else he’d be pissed, but Sasuke had gone missing a month and a half ago and Kakashi reminded himself to just be glad to see him breathing. Answers would come later.

But he stayed where he was, lowering his arm so that Sasuke couldn’t duck under it. “I thought you were dead, you little--” He pinched the bridge of his nose and forced an exhale. “Shouldn’t I be calling your father?”

He wasn’t stupid—he knew what the answer was going to be, but that didn’t stop his stomach from panging uncomfortably when Sasuke’s face went dark and the corner of his torn lip twitched into a humorless smile.

“I’m clearly still alive, but I won’t be much longer if you don’t move your fossilized ass before I freeze solid.”

It wasn’t that cold, but it was dark and damp from a recent rainfall and Sasuke wasn’t wearing very much—a loose white sweater his collarbones peeked through, blue leggings, and ankle boots. Kakashi was willing to bet he was hungry and exhausted, and probably traumatized from whatever he’d been through, but ‘I’m cold’ would be as close to admitting any of that as Sasuke could get.

Stoic little shit.

Kakashi stepped aside, closing and locking the door after Sasuke. The back of his neck was nearly blue from cold, or maybe it was the bruising--he couldn’t tell and it made his stomach twist. “How did you know where I live?”

Sasuke had rested one hand against the wall in what was clearly meant to be a casual gesture, but his breathing was labored. His expression, though, was as prideful and snotty as ever. “You’re in the phone book. Duh.”

Now that he was in the light, Kakashi could see that Sasuke’s wrists were rubbed raw and his neck was mottled with red. Fresh injuries. The thought that Sasuke had spent the past six weeks being beaten regularly and possibly restrained on top of it made his blood boil, but he kept his face neutral, body language relaxed. He didn’t want to startle Sasuke and send him running. At least here, Kakashi could keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t get into any more trouble.

“Epsom salts,” he said, inclining his head towards the staircase. “Lower cupboard on the right-hand side. The master bath is through my bedroom—first door on the left at the top of the stairs—and there are clean towels on the heating rack. I’ll make some dinner for you once you’ve warmed up a bit.”

Sasuke looked at him for a minute, almost as if he wanted to ask permission. Kakashi kept a neutral smile on his face until Sasuke wrinkled his nose and started climbing the stairs, wet boots squeaking against the wood.

Once he was out of earshot, Kakashi pushed the heel of his hand against his forehead and indulged in a few deep, shaky breaths.

This was going to be a long night.

\--

Peeling off the drenched sweater was like tearing away a layer of his own skin.

Sasuke allowed himself to hiss in pain--he was no longer neck-deep in survival mode, and now that the adrenaline was leaving his system, he was starting to feel how extensive his injuries were. He sat on the closed lid of the toilet to take off his boots, pain shooting up his calf when he pulled on his injured ankle. He bit his tongue around a whimper.

By the time he was finished stripping, the tub was full and steaming. Kakashi had said something about epsom salts under the sink.

The ache that permeated his limbs was almost enough for him to decide that the physical exertion involved in bending down and opening the cupboard wasn’t worth it.

“Come on,” he grunted to himself. “You’ve run or walked at least ten miles tonight. Don’t be a fucking baby now.”

Fingers closed around the box and he forced himself to stand up, eyes watering. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of his own mottled skin in the mirror on the back of the door. He’d made a point of not looking at his reflection until now, but curiosity tugged at the back of his head, just a little stronger than the unease.

He was pale and gaunt, darkly bruised in more places than not. His bones pulled razor-sharp under tightly-stretched, damp skin. The skin under his eyes was smudged deep purple, and his gaze smoldered with unfelt emotion.

He looked tiny, fragile, and terrified.

Eyes lit on the fingerprints around his neck, recalled bony fingers squeezing there until his vision went brown at the edges. His lip was red with dried blood and his cheek was a rainbow of green and blue where he’d smacked face-first against the banister. His hip was swollen--he turned, just slightly, and the angry, scorched flesh came into view.

His stomach clenched violently.

Shaking, he wrenched his eyes away from his reflection, dumped salt into the tub and stepped in on his good leg. The water stung his skin and he sank to his knees, then lay on his back. His hip throbbed fiercely.

The steam muffled his slow, hitching sobs.

\--

Chicken soup simmered on the stove—from a can, Kakashi didn’t have the motor skills to make anything from scratch just now when the clock was steadily creeping closer to four—and the lights glowed warmly in the kitchen. Two mugs of chamomile tea sat steeping on the counter, next to an empty bowl and spoon. He’d heard Sasuke drain the water and move around upstairs, and was leaning against the counter with a spoon in hand, keeping the soup hot and making sure it didn’t burn against the bottom of the pot.

This was a problem. If Sasuke had run away from home, Kakashi could be considered an accomplice if anyone found out where he was. It was bad enough that he had a boy thirteen years his junior under his roof, worse that he was a student-- _ex_ -student.

They’d spent enough time alone in the music room during the past few years to raise eyebrows, to the point where Kakashi had been spoken to about his “attachment”. If anyone learned Sasuke was here, it wouldn’t be too much of a reach to assume he’d been here the whole time, and that would be--bad. Jail-cell and sex-offender-registry bad. Not to mention what it would do to Sasuke, in his clearly tenuous state.

Then again, Sasuke had never actually been reported missing. There had been a vague letter sent to the school saying something about a family emergency, signed by Fugaku, who Sasuke had admitted was the cause of the bruises on his face—but for six _weeks?_ He’d missed graduation, although he’d technically filled all his requirements sometime in junior year.

Kakashi had to swallow bile at the thought that Fugaku Uchiha could have locked his child away, and tried not to wonder what had happened to make him snap.

But Sasuke could just as easily have been living on the street. Perhaps the split knuckles and handprints around his throat were the result of a scuffle with another bum—he certainly looked like an easy target, so willowy already and walking with a limp on top of it.

There were the marks on his wrists to consider, too. Kakashi had a myriad of toys in a rich walnut dresser that could produce those kinds of marks, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Sasuke’s weren’t from a bout of kinky sex. If his injuries had been the enjoyable kind, why would he desperate enough to get away from whatever caused them to seek Kakashi out in the middle of the night, the summer he should have graduated if he hadn’t been missing--?

“I borrowed your robe.”

The voice pulled Kakashi from his musings, and he glanced up to look at the doorway where Sasuke was leaning, wrapped in navy blue terrycloth. Damp, but clean hair stuck to the sides of his face, and he held his clothes in his good hand. He tossed them on the floor, and they landed with a soft flump. “Burn those.”

Kakashi raised an eyebrow and turned off the stove, dishing soup into the bowl. He didn’t speak—just set the soup and tea down on the island, picked up his own mug, and didn’t take his eyes off Sasuke.

It paid off. Sasuke tried to keep his gaze at first, but it wasn’t long before he looked at the wall over Kakashi’s shoulder. His eyes flicked from the ceiling to the island to the bowl, never landing in one place for too long. With the barest hint of a flush tinting his cheeks pink, he pulled up a stool and sat, staring at his food.

Kakashi took a sip of tea and waited. It was warm and soothing. Sasuke’s fingers twitched around the handle of his mug.

“Someone gave them to me,” he muttered, finally. “I don’t want to think of him anymore.”

There were only so many places Kakashi could go with that statement, and all of them made him queasy. He took another sip of tea and averted his gaze from Sasuke, observing out of the corner of his eye that he eased up on the twitching once he was no longer under scrutiny.

The kitchen was quiet but for the sounds of Sasuke spooning soup into his mouth, the soft clink of metal on ceramic and a hint of a slurp. When he was done, he rested the spoon in the bowl and looked expectantly up at Kakashi, chewing on the corner of his lip.

He looked incredibly young and small, tilting his head back to make eye contact and wrapped so loosely in Kakashi’s robe it was in danger of slipping off. Kakashi was suddenly and painfully aware of the fact that he hadn’t turned eighteen yet.

“I have a guest room upstairs.” Kakashi picked up the empty bowl and mug and carried them to the dishwasher, and the sound of the stool scraping backwards told him Sasuke had gotten up. “Let’s find you some pajamas to borrow for now, and I’ll take you to the mall next week for a new wardrobe.”

“Waiting until you can’t get in trouble if people think you’re my sugar daddy?”

Kakashi froze, then looked over at Sasuke. He didn’t look quite so young now, lips smirking and arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m too old for your attitude, you insufferable brat.”

Sasuke just snorted, which was the closest he ever really came to laughing. It was good to see he was capable of humor—hadn’t been through enough suffering to overwhelm his capacity to cope via distraction, and as coping mechanisms went, it was one of Kakashi’s personal favorites.

He stretched, feeling his spine pop into place with an audible crack that made Sasuke flinch. Scratching at his hip, he bent over to pick up the clothes from the floor. “You know what, pilfer the closet in the guest room on your own. I have work in the morning.”

Footsteps told Kakashi that Sasuke was following him towards the staircase. He didn’t turn around, even though he could feel the gaze burning into his upper back. “Liar. School let out last month.”

“Who says I don’t have another gig? The mortgage isn’t cheap.” Kakashi ascended the last few stairs and paused outside his door, arms folded loosely over his chest.

Sasuke stared up at him like a defiant child, though his exhaustion betrayed little hints of stress in the taut line of his mouth and deep circles under his eyes. Kakashi made sure none of the pity and anxiety gnawing at his mind showed in his body language, looked over at the door to the guest room and back at Sasuke without, he hoped, a hint of anything other than mild sternness.

It seemed to work, because Sasuke’s lip curled and he made for the door.

Kakashi turned and was about to disappear into his own bedroom when the soft hiss of cloth moving over skin made him glance over his shoulder.

He barely noticed the fact that he was staring at Sasuke’s bare ass, mind too busy churning at the angry red finger-marks marring the exposed skin, and the barely-healed burn to the right of his spine. Someone had held him down, hard, and branded him.

The door clicked shut and Kakashi stood in the hall, staring at it for long moments. His bathrobe lay in a dark, forgotten pool on the floor.

\--

He ached everywhere, but kept it to himself. He’d shown more than enough shameful weakness for the night. Once he’d heard Kakashi’s door creak, he slid the bathrobe over his shoulders and off—it felt like it was made of iron where it lay against his bruised body—and let it slither to the floor.

It took effort, more effort than he wanted to admit, to make it the few steps into the guest room. His ankle screamed in pain with every step, and it took two tries for him to lift his wrenched arm enough to push the door open. He didn’t bother turning around to shut it--just leaned against it and backed up.

The click of it closing was deafening in the darkness of the room, against the pounding of Sasuke’s head. He stayed against the door for a minute, breath coming in labored pants. He wanted to curl up and sleep, have five fucking seconds of respite from the physical ache and the racing of his mind, but he knew that as soon as he tried to rest, the thoughts and memories would take over.

Fire and hot metal and icy gold eyes, limp black hair like an oil slick spreading over his chest. The pattern of the ceiling, and the crack of a skull against a headboard. Warm spittle from a mouth no longer cruelly grinning.

“Fuck you,” Sasuke muttered, pushing off from the door and limping over to the bed. He was too tired to look for pajamas. “With an iron brand.”

His hip twinged.

A few more steps and he made it to the bed, which was its own obstacle—trying to maneuver himself onto the mattress while putting the least pressure possible on the worst of his injuries. His rib was probably broken, and his ankle too, from the feel of it. The thought crossed his mind that he should probably see a doctor; get an air cast at the very least, and make sure nothing was healing incorrectly.

He pillowed his head on his good arm and his cheek flared with pain. He recalled toppling down the front staircase in his father’s house, cracking his head on the banister and thinking he was going break his neck and die there for a few terrifying seconds.

Calling a doctor wasn’t an option. Doctors asked questions and he was sure his father had removed him from his health insurance. The payment would be impossible.

“Fuck you too, old man.”

_I’m sorry._

After forty minutes of staring at the alarm clock and watching the numbers move, mind racing, it took everything he had not call out.

He didn’t even have to get up--he knew Kakashi would come running. Wouldn’t touch him-- _never touched him_ \--but like so many other times, would sit with him, make sure he at least wasn’t alone.

He took in breath to shout, but the movement stung his raw vocal chords and he remembered he was soiled, now. Used up and worthless.

Sasuke didn’t sleep until the room had turned pale, watery blue with impending sunrise. His eyes burned, dry.

[ **Next chapter** ](http://needsmorekissing.dreamwidth.org/1820.html)  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan is made, so kiss me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latex-fruit syndrome. It's a thing.

_He’s fourteen and sitting on the piano bench in the empty band room, eating a bento his brother made for him. Kakashi is there, too, sitting on the bench with him. This is the first indication that he’s dreaming--Kakashi always maintained distance in real life, usually with his feet propped up on a desk. The smell is right, though. Spicy and stronger than Sasuke’s smelled it before. He takes a last bite of rice._

_The second indication that he’s dreaming comes in the form of calloused fingertips touching his cheek, tilting him to look into burning gray eyes, one bisected with scar tissue._

_“This is anachronistic,” he whispers, but allows the touch. This part is familiar--he’s had this fantasy for years. He knows the whole script by now._

_Kakashi, true to form, chuckles softly and lays a kiss on Sasuke’s neck, like always. “It’s your dream.”_

_And that’s where things start to warp._

_The room darkens, moves, and Kakashi’s hands light on the back of his neck and pull him down. He gasps, tries to lift his hands to push away, but they tug and clank and don’t move. He’s on his back, suddenly, in a dank room with mold on the ceiling, lit by candles._

_Gold eyes glint above him and a cruel face smiles. Orochimaru straddles his chest and pets his face, and his fingers leave trails of burning slime._

_“I wasn’t tied up,” Sasuke protests, trying to squeeze his eyes shut, wake himself. It doesn’t work._

_“Which is not a mistake I’ll be making again, little doll.” His jaw is wrenched open and stuffed with limp, tepid flesh. The taste, rank and bitter, makes him gag._

_Acrid fluid floods his mouth and spills down his chin, choking him._

\--

Sasuke had been right about Kakashi not having another gig, so he’d turned off his alarm after sinking into his duvet and rationalized that if Sasuke _really_ needed him before ten in the morning, he’d come and get him.

But Pakkun had other ideas, and Kakashi woke to a soft, bouncy paw against his nose at half past eight. Dog and owner exchanged lidded stares, but Kakashi conceded after a moment--he cared more about not having to clean up piss than getting to sleep in a few extra hours.

He decided to make a jog of it as long as he was up--he’d let himself slack off since school had let out. Running shoes laced and MP3 player strapped to his upper arm, he took off at a slow trot, Pakkun shuffling along next to him, tongue out.

Henry Rollins’ snarling vocals pumped through his headphones and let him zone out, feet hitting the asphalt in even measure with the music. His mind lit on a few things--his plan for dinner (marinated tofu), the fact that Sasuke’s latex-fruit syndrome meant he’d have to think up something else (pizza, maybe?), the first time he’d given Sasuke an epinephrine injection (in his classroom; Ino had tried to one-up other members of Sasuke’s fanclub by shoving a chocolate-covered strawberry in his mouth).

Near-death experiences aside, Sasuke had liked spending time in the music room any chance he got. When he managed to shake his posse of squealing females long enough, Kakashi had started to enjoy it too--he’d sit behind his desk with his feet up and pretend to read while Sasuke’s fingers played over the keys of grand piano and made it sing. At twelve, he’d been talented; at fourteen, near genius; Kakashi had been prepared to write him a letter of recommendation for Juilliard by the time he’d hit junior year, and he would have if he hadn’t been taken aside by the principal and informed that his relationship was starting to appear unprofessionally attached.

He slowed to a walk once he hit main street, stopping at a small coffee chain and looping Pakkun’s leash around a signpost.

“Good boy,” he murmured, rubbing behind floppy ears, and pushed open the door, basking in the chill of the air conditioning.

The hurt and anger that had rolled off Sasuke in waves when Kakashi told him he could no longer visit the music room had been chilling. As he got into line, he wondered if that had been a warning sign. Sasuke had gone missing a month later.

He smiled for the cashier and took off his headphones, pushing the thoughts of Sasuke’s bruised face out of his mind. What kind of coffee did Sasuke prefer? Had he ever said? “I’ll take two iced coffees...one with cream and sugar, and the other black. Your gloves aren’t latex, are they?”

He walked the rest of the way home, which wasn’t far. Pakkun was panting like he’d run a marathon, though, and when Kakashi let go of the leash, he immediately lumbered to the back door and scratched at it, whining.

“Give me a second.” Kakashi set down Sasuke’s coffee and reached in his pocket for the house key. Pakkun trotted in as soon as he’d gotten the door open and made straight for the water bowl, lapping messily at it.

“Rise and shine, I brought coffee,” Kakashi called, stepping inside and transferring Sasuke’s cup to the kitchen island.

His mind flitted through the possibilities of why he received silence in response--the most likely being that Sasuke had left. He tried to ignore the fear and disappointment that stirred in him at that thought.

The sound of retching from upstairs replaced it with a different kind of fear, one he quashed with the need to act. He ascended the stairs as quickly as he could without running and knocked on the door, which was cracked open.

“May I come in?”

Another retch and a hacking cough sounded before Sasuke answered, voice even more hoarse than it had been last night. “Guess so.”

Kakashi pushed lightly on the door and stepped inside, crouching on the floor next to Sasuke. He was once more wrapped in Kakashi’s bathrobe, and his face was ashen and damp with sweat. Kakashi touched his shoulder so as not to startle him, and then pushed his bile-slick hair out of his face. Sasuke heaved, then vomited again, and Kakashi lay his free hand against Sasuke’s back.

“Well, better out than in,” he said, calmly. “There’s no blood, which is good, but--”

He peered over the bowl to look more closely, fighting down the wave of nausea rising in his own throat at the smell and sight. “You haven’t been eating much, have you. That won’t do. I’ll make you some oatmeal while you get cleaned up.” He tore off a piece of toilet paper from the roll and held it out.

Sasuke scowled and snatched the tissue, scrubbing at his mouth and tossing it in the bowl. “I’m not a child, and I don’t feel like eating.”

Kakashi chuckled. “I know. You’re a big boy and you do what you want, even if it’s detrimental to your well-being.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Sasuke snapped, but the effect was lost when his face twisted with renewed nausea and he leaned over the toilet bowl again, dry-heaving. Kakashi went back to holding his hair and started rubbing gentle circles over the sharp bumps of his spine.

“All right. I’m sorry,” Kakashi murmured, feeling Sasuke’s body lurch forward, over and over as his thin frame was racked with shudders. He wasn’t producing vomit anymore—had probably already lost everything that had been in his stomach. “Easy does it. You’re okay.”

Sasuke moaned weakly and leaned to the side, resting his head against the wall. “Water. Mouthwash. Something. Tastes awful.”

“Rinse first.” Kakashi stood up and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out a bottle of Listerine. He poured some out into a paper cup and handed it to Sasuke, who swished vigorously and spat into the toilet. The next cup was filled with water from the tap. “Now drink a little. You need to get something in your stomach.”

“No shit.” Sasuke took a swill of water, looking at Kakashi from the corner of his eye. “Still don’t feel like eating.”

“Then I’ll make you a smoothie and you can drink something instead,” Kakashi said, reaching over to flush the toilet. Sasuke’s glare could have curdled milk.

“Get out. I want to shower.”

Kakashi pushed himself to his feet and ran the tap, rinsing the vomit off his hands and scrubbing with soap. “And after you drink your smoothie, I’m taking you to a health clinic. Looking like a bruised apple aside, I want to make sure that bug you’ve got isn’t serious.”

“I puked on your sheets,” Sasuke called after him as he turned to leave the bathroom. There was a self-satisfied tone to his voice that made Kakashi want to smack him and hug him in equal measure. He was, after all, still a child.

\--

True to Kakashi’s word, there was a smoothie waiting for Sasuke when he got out of the shower. Kakashi himself was nowhere to be found, and so Sasuke stayed wrapped in the bathrobe--he’d ask to borrow clothes later.

The smell of cologne clung to the fabric and teased at Sasuke’s nose every time he turned his head.

He sat at the counter and picked up the glass, taking a sip. Vanilla, raspberry, and orange--bland, but safe. Kakashi had been his music teacher for six years in addition to his senior year social studies professor, and had administered enough epinephrine shots to be familiar with exactly what Sasuke was allergic to. But while he didn’t have to worry about his throat closing up as long as he was here, he would have to leave the house eventually, and he hadn’t gotten a chance to refill his prescription before his father had kicked him out.

Fuck.

He set the now-empty glass on the counter and rested his head in his hands.

“Tummy feeling better?”

The sing-songy tone came from just over Sasuke’s right shoulder and startled him so badly he nearly fell off the barstool with a shout. An iron-firm arm caught him around his back and held him up, pushing into his bad rib so that he gritted his teeth and his eyes watered, pain flaring up his side.

“Are you fucking insane?” he hissed, glaring over his shoulder at Kakashi, who was smiling vacantly. “You want to scare me into puking all over your counter now?”

“You’ve got color back in your cheeks,” Kakashi said, letting go of Sasuke’s waist and stepping back. “And you’re not feverish. We should still go and rule out food poisoning, though, and I want you to get an x-ray on your ankle.”

“You’re not my parent,” Sasuke grumbled, gingerly getting off the stool and leaning his elbow against the counter. His ankle had been steadily throbbing since his mad dash to the bathroom this morning, choking on the puke he’d expelled while he was still in the clutches of his nightmare. “And it’s not food poisoning.”

“Oh?” Kakashi held out his hand. Sasuke didn’t take it. “You should have told me if you knew what was making you sick.”

 _Right. Because you give a shit._ Sasuke frowned. “Like you haven’t seen me do it a million times.” Before every recital, Kakashi had been there waiting outside the stall in the boy’s room, a pack of gum and a bottle of water in hand. Like so many other times, Sasuke had been fooled into thinking he cared.

“Stress-vomiting. That was my next guess.” Kakashi lowered his hand to scratch at his stomach. “No offense, but you look like you’ve been put through a meat grinder. I didn’t want to rule anything out.”

“And being put through a meat grinder wouldn’t stress me out enough to flip my stomach? I’m going to go find clothes I won’t drown in.” Sasuke started towards the stairs, but he’d barely limped two steps before Kakashi was behind him again, one arm slipping under his knees and the other looping around his waist.

“No more walking until we know it’s not broken,” Kakashi chided, and his grip was firm enough and Sasuke’s ankle hurt too much for him to decide trying to wriggle his way out of it was a bad idea.

“I’m going to cut you,” he hissed, making himself dead weight. He didn’t have to try to get down, but he could at least make the task of carrying him as unpleasant as possible.

Kakashi, the fucker, just kept grinning. “You do that. Shame on me for looking out for your well-being.”

It hit Sasuke somewhere in his sternum. His fingers tensed, gripping Kakashi’s shirt sleeve. “Like you ever cared about my well-being.” Like everyone else, Kakashi had kicked Sasuke out, closed the door and cut him off, left him to fend for himself.

Kakashi paused at the top of the stairs, and looked down at Sasuke with a frown marring his face. Sasuke stared back, trying not to let his glare waver.

“Everything I’ve ever done concerning you has been with your well-being in mind,” Kakashi said, quietly. He turned sideways to get Sasuke through the door to the master bedroom and set him down gently on the mattress. “I apologize if I didn’t make that clear.”

Sasuke’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as he watched Kakashi walk over to a chest of drawers and start pulling them open. “Then why’d you boot me from your classroom? Don’t give me that ‘playing favorites’ bullshit. You’re not the type to listen to jealous parents.”

“No, I’m not,” Kakashi agreed, straightening up. He tossed a pair of jeans, fresh cotton boxers, and a red t-shirt at Sasuke, and turned to face the wall. “These will be big on you, but they should fit if you roll up the jeans. Tell me if you need help.”

For a moment, there was no sound in the room but the shifting of cloth. Sasuke was determined to get his clothes on without any assistance, even if it took some struggling; he gritted his teeth as he yanked the pants up over his swollen ankle, and a little thin hiss escaped his mouth as he raised one arm to pull the shirt over his head, but other than that he achieved his goal with stoicism.

“I’m dressed,” he grunted, bent over to roll up the legs of the pants. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Kakashi produced Sasuke’s old boots from the closet and sat on the other end of the bed, a respectful distance away. Sasuke tugged on the cuffs of his pants, which were refusing to roll evenly.

“Someone started a rumor that I was molesting you. The principal had words with me about it--apparently having you alone in my classroom so much gave them a shade of believability.” Kakashi reached over and took Sasuke’s leg, rolling up the cuff in a neat, even line. “I didn’t want to end up fired or on the sex offender registry. Other leg.”

Sasuke used both hands to lift his injured ankle onto the bed, and Kakashi straightened his cuff with the same gentle deftness.

“But you weren’t molesting me,” he pointed out as Kakashi made the last fold and creased it.

“I know that, and you know that, but your father has a lot of influence over the school board and he had words with me as well,” Kakashi said, pushing himself up off the mattress. “You can wear your old boots or not, it’s up to you--oh, hold on, let me find you some socks.”

Of course. His father. Sasuke shouldn’t have been surprised--an image of Fugaku sitting at Sasuke’s desk chair flitted across his mind, and he remembered the tight choking panic when he’d realized his computer had been hacked. If his father hadn’t been overly suspicious, paranoid, and a million other things, Sasuke’s ribs wouldn’t be aching the way they were, and his ankle would be at its normal size, and--

He chewed on his lip, not caring that pain flared from the split.

“Don’t do that, you’ll make it worse.”

With a soft flump, a pair of gray socks landed in Sasuke’s lap. They had blue paw prints on them. He snorted.

“Well,” he said, leaning over to pull the sock over his bruised foot, “Are we going, or what?”

“Ready when you are, soldier.” Kakashi gave a two-fingered salute and a cheesy smile, then reached over to scoop Sasuke up off the mattress again.

He could think about the implications of the conversation, the fear and the strange relief blossoming somewhere inside him, when he didn’t have his arms locked around Kakashi’s neck.

\--

The clinic was busy, as was to be expected for a Sunday afternoon. They had waited for nearly two hours before the nurse, a young woman with short black hair and doe-ish eyes, had called Sasuke’s name; now, three hours after that, Sasuke still hadn’t come out.

Kakashi had tried to lean back and get some sleep, but there was a young woman who had brought her colicky infant in, and the baby’s screams kept him stubbornly awake. He hadn’t opened his eyes just in case anyone got it in their head to bother him, and let his mind wander leisurely off to what sort of pizza he could order that both he and Sasuke would like. Eggplant for him, and maybe cheeseless with red sauce and bacon for Sasuke--

“I have to come back in three weeks,” came a familiar voice from in front of him, and Kakashi lazily blinked one eye open.

Sasuke was standing in front of him with an air cast on his left leg, tape around his knuckles, and a bottle in his hand.

“What’s the diagnosis?” Kakashi opened the other eye and stood up, heading for the door. Sasuke followed, the cast thunking heavily against the linoleum.

“My rib is cracked and there’s nothing I can do about it but take over-the-counter pain meds, I tore a ligament in my left ankle and should ice it and limit physical activity, the burn on my hip wasn’t severe and is healing okay but I got antibiotics just in case, and everything else is just nasty bruising.” By the time he finished rattling off his injuries, they’d made it to Kakashi’s toyota, and he pulled the door open for Sasuke before sliding in on the driver’s side.

“Why do you have to come back if everything’s going so nicely?” He didn’t pull out of the lot yet--folded his hands in his lap and looked over at Sasuke, who kept his head straight and stared out the windshield.

“I need an STD panel and three weeks from now is as early as the first test could come back positive.” His voice was carefully neutral, but Kakashi didn’t miss the minute tensing of his shoulders.

Frowning, he tried to make eye contact, but Sasuke was refusing to look in his direction. “I’m sure I had you in my sex ed class. How many times did I cover how to use protection?”

He knew he’d made a mistake as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Sasuke’s whole face went dark, his eyes narrowed and he glared so hotly at Kakashi it was almost palpable.

“I was _raped_ , shitstain,” he snarled.

Kakashi’s blood turned to ice.

The marks on Sasuke’s throat and around his wrists seemed painfully, stupidly obvious. Of course. Of _course._

It explained everything. How he’d gone missing, the clothes he wanted burned, the extensive vomiting this morning, the trembling fear he’d ignored rolling off Sasuke in waves last night. Kakashi felt sick. _How could I have missed this?_

His throat was dry and his palms were sweating. Sasuke, his little prodigy and favorite student, bright and brilliant and fiery and sweet--had been raped. Violently.

And Kakashi hadn’t been there to save him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he managed, helplessly. His hands shook. He wouldn’t blame Sasuke for never trusting him again, but he’d damn well try to--

“No. I’m hungry.”

Sasuke shut his eyes and rested his forehead against the window. Kakashi watched his painfully sharp collarbones rise and fall under his own over-large t-shirt.

“If you change your mind, want to press charges or anything, let me know.” Kakashi forced himself to turn his eyes to the rear-view mirror and start up the car, backing out of the parking lot.

“Fine. Just--drop it. Please.”

The heaviness of his voice made Kakashi’s chest ache, but he took in a deep breath and smiled for Sasuke’s sake.

“How does a burger sound?”

\--

Sasuke had never seen Kakashi so emotionally affected by anything, and that made him nervous--he wanted to forget everything that had happened and move on, and that wouldn’t happen with his old teacher tiptoeing around him and treating him like he was going to break any second--but by the time they’d pulled into the little drive through and placed their orders (a double cheeseburger with bacon, tomatoes and ranch dressing, large fries and a lemonade for Sasuke and a grilled chicken sandwich and chocolate frappe for Kakashi), he was back to his vague and infuriatingly chipper self.

Sasuke bit into meat and bread, wanting desperately to wolf the whole thing down as fast as he could, but he made himself take it slowly. He hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks and one episode of sickness was enough for today. He savored it, letting each taste linger before moving on to the next in methodical order.

“I couldn’t get you an appointment with the behavioral health clinic,” Kakashi said absently, taking a noisy swig of his frappe. Sasuke rolled his eyes.

“I’ve already detoxed from my meds,” he replied, and stuck a fry in his mouth. “Dad didn’t like my psychiatrist.”

“And there’s the matter of your allergies. You didn’t come out with any paper, so either you didn’t ask for an epi-pen prescription or they wouldn’t give it to you.” Kakashi bit into his sandwich and chewed contemplatively for a moment. “And being off your meds is no good either. I don’t remember you particularly enjoying your mixed affective episodes in the past.”

Sasuke frowned. He took a bite of burger, the flavor of swiss and tomato spreading over his tongue. Kakashi was right--while he felt okay now, he knew he was gambling with his stability by staying untreated. He’d never been hospitalized for it before, and if he went into a severe enough episode to go in now, they’d ask questions about everything else and--

He couldn’t handle it.

But a small, petulant part of him wanted to resist, deny, refuse to acknowledge that there was anything wrong with him; he wanted to believe that if he pretended it wasn’t there, it would eventually go away.

Kakashi looked at him, hooded eyes uncomfortably penetrating.

“I’m not letting you suffer in silence, Sasuke,” he said.

“Well, unless you can pay for a prescriber, I don’t see what can be done about it.” Sasuke put his straw to his lips and sucked in lemonade--tart, to the point where most people would find it unpleasant, but he’d always hated sweets. “Bipolar meds without insurance are cost-prohibitive. I’m willing to bet my father’s taken me off his plan, and I’d rather not interact with him to find out.”

His ankle pulsed.

“Right,” Kakashi said after a pause. “Your birthday’s on Wednesday. We’ll go down to city hall first thing and get married.”

The lemonade that had been in Sasuke’s mouth suddenly and violently went down his trachea.

Kakashi reached over and thumped him on the back, calmly, like he’d made a routine comment about the weather. Sasuke’s face felt like it was on fire.

“Don’t make stupid jokes like that,” he said, coughing. He couldn’t look Kakashi in the face--for a second, he’d thought he was serious, and that hurt somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m not joking. You need health insurance to stay stable and safe, and I have a plan that will cover my legal spouse. It would be an open marriage, of course; it’s not fair to tie you down for a business arrangement. And we’ll get divorced as soon as you’re back on your feet.” Kakashi lifted his hand from Sasuke’s back, took another drink from his frappe and put the car in gear, turning out of the parking lot.

Sasuke’s stomach churned with something unidentifiable, but familiar--not unlike when he realized Kakashi had only been pretending to read while Sasuke was learning a new piece in his classroom.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, pressing his forehead against the window. Kakashi chuckled.

“Insane, but brilliant.”

“You read too many Harlequin novels.”

“Is that a yes?”

Sasuke sighed, and glanced over at Kakashi from the corner of his eye. “You haven’t even gotten me a ring. How can I marry someone so tacky?” His hands were trembling, but his voice came out smooth and quick; did nothing to betray the way his heart was palpitating somewhere near his throat.

Kakashi grinned, and turned onto main street. “Don’t worry about rings. Just make it to your eighteenth without breaking any more of yourself, all right?”

Sasuke shoved a fistful of fries into his mouth and continued to stare holes in the window. He didn’t trust his own mouth with Kakashi looking at him like that.

 _Business arrangement,_ he reminded himself, as Kakashi started chatting about getting Sasuke an apartment near public transportation and teaching him to drive once his foot was better. _This isn’t one of your middle school fantasies._

But he couldn’t help but remember the feeling of Kakashi’s arms holding him up.

 

\--

  
This was sick. Twisted. _He_ was sick. Just like whoever had forced themselves on Sasuke’s delicate, teenage body--marred him with bruises and marked him like they _owned_ him without any care to what Sasuke had to say. Beautiful, explosive Sasuke, who had come home from post-lunch grocery shopping and locked himself in the guest room without saying a word, aside from a clipped and quiet request to borrow Kakashi’s laptop at around eleven.

Kakashi swirled the shot, staring at the movement of the booze. Amber. He knocked it back and it didn’t burn as much as the first two--a sign he was well on his way to being smashed. Maybe if he drank enough, he’d forget how it felt to lift up Sasuke’s terrifyingly light frame.

“You’re sick,” he told himself, just in case he needed to hear it verbalized to understand it, and looked up at the ceiling. “You old lech.”

The sickest part of it all was that he’d told Sasuke he hadn’t molested him--and Sasuke had agreed, Sasuke hadn’t pushed him away, Sasuke hadn’t ever tried to push him away. Sasuke, fifteen, hadn’t run screaming when he caught Kakashi looking at his ass; Sasuke, seventeen, would make jokes that pushed the line from flirty to downright sexual and Kakashi didn’t immediately make him leave. It was obvious he’d warped Sasuke’s mind, somehow, without realizing it.

He took another drink. When had all this started? Sasuke couldn’t have been older than fourteen. He’d looked twenty when he was fourteen, which made no sense because he was almost eighteen now and looked twelve, except in certain lights that made him look forty and--

Kakashi smacked himself in the forehead.

“You’re drunk,” he muttered, and that didn’t stop him from taking another swig of scotch. “Fool.”

He took a deep breath and watched the room spin for a while, until he could focus on one particular spot on the wall without his eyes crossing.

He knew exactly when it had started. Sasuke had always been an early bloomer, and when Kakashi met him at twelve he was already a tenor with the beginnings of adult muscle swelling under his skin, but he’d been so short it had been easy not to think of him as attractive. And he hadn’t, honest to god--of course he’d noticed the kid was _pretty_ , how could he _not_ ; everyone noticed it, especially the girls his age. Kakashi remembered chuckling fondly and thinking on what a heartbreaker Sasuke would be once he’d grown up a little.

But he hadn’t actually felt the stirrings of attraction until after Sasuke graduated middle school. He’d come back from summer vacation half a foot taller and no less skinny, but he’d grown into himself; his hands and feet were no longer just a little big, his face had thinned out, leaving no trace of the previous baby fat that had made it round; his voice didn’t crack anymore, a rough baritone that heated the base of Kakashi’s spine.

He’d ignored it--of course he’d ignored it. Sasuke had been fourteen. A freshman. Confident that he was just feeling the effects of this particular period of celibacy, Kakashi poured his focus into mentoring Sasuke’s musical ability and started going to clubs again, dark ones where the bass was so loud it hurt his stomach and his mask wasn’t out of place in the slightest.

He’d found himself gravitating toward petite brunettes--swore he heard Sasuke’s voice one night, moaning when Kakashi’s palm came down to strike the bare, white ass in his lap.

He stopped going to clubs after that. Sasuke was sixteen.

“Maybe I should castrate myself,” he mumbled into the glass, which, he noted, was empty. He poured another shot and hammered it back. “Then there wouldn’t be a problem.”

No, there would be. Sasuke himself was a problem, just by his nature; all he had to do was look at you, or show up at your doorstep drenched and shaking, to ruin every plan you had ever made. The little shit.

And Kakashi didn’t like the way he’d reacted. He’d actually looked _shy_ , for the first time Kakashi had ever seen; he’d blushed and refused to meet Kakashi’s eyes and damned if he hadn’t caught a glimmer of a _smile_ somewhere in there. Seventeen year old rape victims weren’t supposed to smile when their creepy, older ex-teachers proposed to them.

It just shouldn’t work that way.

“Fuck you,” Kakashi said, looking up at the ceiling in the general direction of the guest bedroom. “No, I take that back. Just--”

He sighed. What use was talking to the kid through a fucking floor?

...Damn, he was drunk.

Sasuke had stopped pacing at around one--Kakashi would sleep in his office, just to be safe. Maybe lock the door, too.

“Sasuke will realize what this means and be gone by morning. You’ll wake up, your head killing you, and realize that nothing good comes of meddling with your students’ lives, and then live out your days as a perverted hermit reading porn and avoiding human contact.”

He nodded to himself, contemplating the solidity of this plan. Even in his drunken stupor, he knew that wasn’t how it was going to happen--Sasuke was too unpredictable, Kakashi too damn attached.

He just hoped he could keep enough of a distance not to hurt him.

Morosely, he made his way over to the loveseat and stripped off his jeans, flopping face-first onto the couch. He briefly entertained the thought that drowning in his own vomit might not be such a bad idea, but the image of Sasuke’s face when he discovered his body was enough to make him shudder and roll onto his side.


End file.
